What do you call that stuff? Rain?

This is Brandon's pride and joy. You may notice that even after our engagement and

wedding photos, this remains his Facebook profile pic. I try not to take it personal. 

You know when you are at the casino and you hear those bells ding, ding, dinging, and lights flashing and you cut your eyes over and think “Dang it, I knew I should’ve sat down at that machine instead of this piece of junk.” And you smile and clap like you are happy for that person when deep down inside you just wish it was you. Well, I was finally that center of envy.

I’m usually the one that sits with shaking hands as I feed $20 into a machine thinking of how many gallons of milk and boxes of fruity pebbles it could buy and choking back tears as I watch the number under ‘credits’ dwindle down to big fat 0. While my dad, on the other hand, laughs and jokes as he places green chips on the blackjack table like they were Monopoly money.

But, like I said, I finally hit a lick, and I scrame and bounced up and down in my seat, and it felt good. Real good.

Most of all though, we got to see RAIN. Like the real wet kind that falls out of the sky and actually covers the entire ground. Riggin didn’t know what to think of it. Pretty much the closest thing to that he’s ever seen has come out of a water sprinkler. And it smelt SO good. Couple that with 50 degree nights and it will make a person quit their good job and become a car-hop at Sonic just to live in Ruidoso, and don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind.

But we did come back home, watching the temperature reading in the car go up number by number until it finally reached 104 and we realized we were home sweet home. I picked a tub full of squash hurried and started laundry because Brandon’s leaving this morning for a full week of meetings at some nice ranch in Raton, New Mexico, then on up to scope out hunting areas in Colorado. I know, he sucks.

So here I was ironing at 9 last night, thinking to myself how I should start a Facebook fan page titled “I hate ironing my husband’s fishing shirts,” when I see Brandon walk into the kitchen with all his backpacking hunting gear on. It reminded me of Ryder, when he gets in cowboy or pirate mode and must dress in full character. He walked back down the hall, then back outside, I have no clue, I guess he was just breaking it in. I didn’t even ask. Kinda like when I drove up the other day and there was a camping tent fully set up in our front yard. Or when the Fedex man kept showing up at my door last week with packages from places like Outdoor Outlet. Apparently Elk hunting requires more accessories than senior prom, so like I said, I’ve quit asking.